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beauty beneath beside bliss blue bower breath bright brow charm cheek cold Count dance dark deep dream earth eyes face faded fair father fear feel flow flowers fond friends gaze glance gone grave grew grief hair half hall hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hope hour lady land laugh leaves light lips lived locks lonely look Lord lover lute never night o'er o’er once pain pale passed passion pray prayer rest rock rose round seemed seen shade sigh silent sing sleep smile song soul sound spell spirit stone sweet talked tears tell thee thine thing thou thought to-day to-night tone tree turned Vidal voice wander wave weep wild young youth
Page 132 - His talk was like a stream which runs With rapid change from rocks to roses; It slipped from politics to puns; It passed from Mahomet to Moses; Beginning with the laws which keep The planets in their radiant courses, And ending with some precept deep For dressing eels or shoeing horses.
Page 134 - I climbed, the beds I rifled: The church is larger than before; You reach it by a carriage entry; It holds three hundred people more, And pews are fitted up for gentry. Sit in the Vicar's seat: you'll hear The doctrine of a gentle Johnian, Whose hand is white, whose tone is clear, Whose phrase is very Ciceronian. Where is the old man laid? Look down, And construe on the slab before you, Hie jacet GVLIELMVS BROWN, Vir nulla non donandus lauru.
Page 142 - — upon the river ; Some jealousy of some one's heir, Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, A miniature, a lock of hair, The usual vows, — and then we parted. We parted ; months and years...
Page 134 - Alack the change ! in vain I look For haunts in which my boyhood trifled ; The level lawn, the trickling brook, The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled : The church is larger than before: You reach it by a carriage entry : It holds three hundred people more: And pews are fitted up for gentry.
Page 140 - Of daggers or of dancing bears, Of battles or the last new bonnets. By candle-light, at twelve o'clock — To me it mattered not a tittle : If those bright lips had quoted Locke, I might have thought they murmured Little.
Page 183 - No!" He must walk like a god of old story, Come down from the home of his rest; He must smile like the sun in his glory, On the buds he loves ever the best ; And, oh ! from its ivory portal, Like music his soft speech must flow ! — If he speak, smile, or walk like a mortal, My own Araminta, say "No!
Page 142 - She smiled on many just for fun ; I knew that there was nothing in it ; I was the first — the only — one Her heart had thought of for a minute : I knew it, for she told me so In phrase which was divinely moulded.
Page 207 - The Knight is all alone, his steel cap cleft in twain, His good buff jerkin crimsoned o'er with many a • gory stain ; Yet still he waves the standard, and cries amid the rout, "For Church and King, fair gentlemen, spur on and fight it out...
Page 134 - And he was kind, and loved to sit In the low hut or garnished cottage, And praise the farmer's homely wit, And share the widow's homelier pottage: At his approach complaint grew mild; And when his hand unbarred the shutter, The clammy lips of fever smiled The welcome which they could not utter.